


Travelogue

by spj



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabbles, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7726918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spj/pseuds/spj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look into less well-known countries/ cities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amazonia

**Author's Note:**

> places ive been fortunate enough to visit; my feelings on them  
> although, please note, i'm not actually FROM any of those places, so these feelings i've gotten are just because of what ive seen there, or from tour guides, or taxi drivers. you could have a totally different experience. especially if you're from there.

Amazonia is a woman of song and dance.

Her dress of plantain leaves swishes around her ankles every time she steps; her headdress of fallen feathers quivers every time she breathes; she is thundering rain and beating movement.

In the crook of her elbow is the monkey, leaping with only the fear of falling from tree to tree, howling with guttural, earthy tones. In her dancing toes are the tarantula, skittering from dark space to dark space, the king of the underbelly of the rainforest. In her body is the boa, muscles flexing under dark skin with the grace of a larger predator. In her strong arms is the otter, movements swift and powerful, clawed fingers screeching at dangerous, watchful strangers. In her teeth is the caiman, the strongest of the jungle river, but taking no more than is necessary. In her nails are the fire ants, painted red with poison – both a sign, and a warning. In her voice are the insects, chittering all day and all night, rising and falling with the river that she wears around her waist.

In her eyes are the stars, glittering with the depth of the Andes mountains.

They call her beautiful. They call her wild. They call her dangerous.

It doesn’t matter what they call her, because she cannot be called – she just _is_. She is the world’s history, and the world’s future.

The foreigners, they are compelled to visit her. They feel her in their bones and recognize her from birth, even as they call her exotic, even as they call her a mystical beauty, and think they understand, when they don’t – when they _cannot_.

For she who is the very definition of life –

For she, who kept singing, and kept dancing, even when the outside swung at her with machines that bore spinning blades and spat oceans of fire, even when her bones cracked under the pressure and her thick, dark hair fell from her head, for she whose heart kept beating and blood kept rushing through her veins like the last bite of a barracuda in desperation –

If they were to understand her, she who is life, it would mean death for them all.


	2. Cusco, Peru

Cusco set out a bowl of choclo in front of a small shrine for Inti and Quilla, and another banana for Pachamama, before rising to his feet. His knees creaked. He really wasn’t as young as he used to be.

After checking his appearance in the mirror hanging by his door to make sure he was presentable, he grabbed his suit jacket and his hat and headed out into the bright winter sun.

The roads were especially dry this morning, and Camila from the shop next door was out watering the sidewalk.

“Buenos dias, Camila,” he greeted.

She looked up at him with a tired smile. “Buenos dias. Say hello to the Father for me.”

“Will do.”

Camila returned to watering the sidewalk and Cusco continued on his merry way, pulling his jacket closer to his body. Despite the blazing sun that lit up the late-morning sky, the air was still frigid, and Cusco sped up his gait to a brisk trot.

The Catholic church was mostly empty when he arrived, but he saw Maria sitting in a center row near the aisle. Maria hardly ever came to church.

“Buenos dias, Maria,” he said, sliding into the pew and settling himself beside her.

“Buenos dias, Cusco,” she said, eyes lighting up when she saw him. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while!”

“That ought to be my line,” he said. “You haven’t been coming to church lately!”

“Yes, well.” She shrugged. “Things have been busy. My husband is having trouble keeping his art shop open. Most people are tourists coming in for directions, you know, and tourists don’t buy art supplies.”

Cusco shut his mouth. “Ah.” It was a hazard of living in a tourist city. “I’ll be praying for you,” he offered with a small smile.

Maria returned it with her own, bigger than he thought she might have wanted to give. “Thank you, Cusco. You’re a good man.”

Cusco laughed. “We all have sins.”

“And may God absolve us.”


	3. Inka

Inka dreams fitfully, under a cloud of dirt. She is in a state between life and death, where those who cannot die go after they are defeated.

She feels the outsiders stepping on her land, her body, and cannot throw them off. They take pictures of her, as if she is some forgotten ghost they all hope to catch on camera and frame up on their walls.

She is no ghost. She is no relic.

She breathes, through the blood of her descendants. She can feel her heart beating through the millions of organs all over the land they call Peru, all over the world they call Earth. She can feel her blood, weakened and mixed with the blood of her conquerors. She wants to become fire, and burn away the impurities.

It doesn’t matter. She will rise again, and she will conquer again.

Her fingers shift, and a stone wall cracks.


	4. Panama

It’s hard, being free.

She works from dawn ‘til dusk, building houses, weaving clothes, farming soil, and then she works some more, before catching a few hours of sleep, only to start the whole cycle again. She’s alone in her house. There is no one to ask for help.

It’s tiring, being free.

Being free means she can’t rely on anyone besides herself. She reads all the paperwork herself, burning electricity and then candlelight; she signs all the papers herself; makes all the treaty negotiations herself.

But it’s good, being free.

Being free means all her hard work and rewards are her own. There is no one to claim her work as theirs – no one to _force_ her into working for them.

And it’s not lonely, being free. Even though she is alone in her house, she has friends – many friends, and a lot of family, who are all working with her for their own freedom. Her soul feels full to bursting every day, and she falls asleep with a smile on her face.

Yes, it’s good being free.

She falls into her pillow, her hands still covered in dirt, and doesn’t dream.


	5. Toledo, Spain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toledo feels like a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time im including annotations, so skip to the ending if you wanna see that!
> 
> Toledo is a medieval Spanish city.

Toledo feels like a dream.

Spain can see it sometimes, at night, through fog like winter[1], a dream from a tomb devoid of bodies[2].

In his dream, he is cut into three pieces[3], three equal flesh-bodies, separated by tall stone walls that let nothing out and nothing in. The glint of the sacrificial steel blade[4] that tears him apart flashes in his vision - it is his own hand that does the job. He can feel the cuts so precise that he bleeds in rivers[5], not tears. The stitches that close the wounds go around the rim, stacked in neat little bricks[6], leaving a gaping hole in the middle so his bones can become a part of the architecture[7].

The winding streets are his veins, cauterizing his flesh with stone walls that block out the sky - they aren't his, not really, but they are of his body, and he can't remember a time when they never were. His hands form flower-arches, dimpling the cityscape with his own imprint that he later replaces with himself[8]. He doesn't like being separated by walls.

But it works, for now, and though he aches to be one, he knows he'll die if he tries. A little pain, a little poison - well, that's just him to begin with. It'll never go away. Not if he wants to live.

(One day, when he's resting, someone thrusts a cool bottle into his hands, tips his head back, and forces him to drink[9].

He swallows.

He dies.

He feels his body disintegrate and his soul being reformed by foreign fingers, stretching one third to fill the space of one[10], and wakes up one whole emptier.

His blade glints strong in his smooth hands, and he wonders why it cuts so clean.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] In the winter, Toledo is often foggy. It was foggy in the morning and lifted in the afternoon when we went.   
> [2] There's a huge church shaped a bit like a coffin in Toledo, because the Catholic rulers of Spain, King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella I of Castile, were intended to be buried there, but in the end weren't.   
> [3] Toledo is famous for being a "City of the Three Cultures," where Muslims, Jews, and Christians used to live peacefully amongst each other. They were, however, separated by walls into their own parts of the cities.   
> [4] Toledo also used to be known for the quality of its bladed weapons, courtesy of the Muslim artesians.   
> [5] Toledo is surrounded on 3 sides by the river Tagus.   
> [6] They weren't the architects, but the Muslims (aka the Moors) were the ones who built most of the city, and their material of choice was bricks.   
> [7] As the builders, the Muslims took a Roman technique for building walls (Toledo was also the main court of Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire for some time) where they'd make a square hole in the wall of bricks and fill it with rocks and mortar, both for aesthetic and function.   
> [8] The Muslims built the buildings (often using flower patterns), but depending on the location of the building in the city, it could have been used by Christians or Jews.   
> [9] King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella I of Castile more or less took over Spain.   
> [10] Ferdinand and Isabella were also Catholic, and either drove out, killed, or forced the remaining Muslims and Jews to convert. They built churches in the Jewish and Muslim quarters.

**Author's Note:**

> drop a note if you liked!


End file.
